


your name like a song

by sarahyyy



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Patroclus,” he sighs again into the dark, and means <i>I wish I could</i>, means <i>I wish I dared</i>, means <i>I wish you wanted me too</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your name like a song

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Siken's [_Saying Your Names_](http://alonesomes.tumblr.com/post/83957981793/your-name-like-a-song-i-sing-to-myself-your-name).

“Kiss me,” he says, on an impulse, but it sounds like a good plan. Patroclus has never kissed anyone before, and he thinks that he wants to. Achilles can help. Achilles wants to help. 

He doesn’t tell Patroclus that he’s never kissed anyone too, that he’s never had anyone he wanted to kiss, because Patroclus doesn’t ask, and it’s not relevant. This isn’t about him, it’s about Patroclus.

Patroclus’ eyes widen. “Achilles,” he says, and Achilles knows that Patroclus is overthinking it. 

Patroclus does that a lot. He’s the brainier one, the more rational one, and Achilles appreciates that, loves that about Patroclus, but there’s no need to overthink this. Patroclus is his best friend, and they do everything together. Why should this be any different?

He reaches out, tugs on Patroclus’ hand, and says, “Patroclus.”

Patroclus’ name doesn’t always sound like just his name when Achilles says it. This time, it sounds like _come on_. 

Achilles smiles when Patroclus sighs and leans forward to press his lips to Achilles’. Patroclus’ lips are soft but dry, and Achilles can feel the curl of a smile tugging at his own lips. They don’t do more than to press their lips together, even though Achilles knows there’s more to a kiss than just this. 

A second goes by, two, three, before Patroclus pulls away. He’s wearing that look on his face again, the one that says that he’s thinking, and Achilles’ hand trail down from Patroclus’ arm to lace their fingers together, tugging Patroclus a little closer.

Patroclus ends up with his head on Achilles’ shoulder. He doesn’t let go of Achilles’ hand. 

Achilles doesn’t bring up the fact that his heart feels like it’s about to burst out from his chest. It’s an aftereffect of kissing somebody, he supposes, and thinks that maybe that is going to be his favourite part about kissing someone, the warmth in his chest, the slight hum of contentment he feels rumbling through himself-

(-and Patroclus’ hand in his.)

Maybe all kisses will make him feel this way.

—

None of the other kisses he experiences makes him feel that way. He’s kissed a few girls and a few boys, and he’s gotten better at it, knows how to work his lips, knows how to suck and to lick, and it should be good, should be _better_ than his three second first kiss with Patroclus, but it doesn’t come close. 

It never feels _right_ the way it did when he kissed Patroclus, and he never gets that warm feeling in his chest when he kisses someone else.

(He gets a shade of it, a pale imitation, when Patroclus looks up at him and smiles, and he wants more, he always wants more.) 

He figures out why two years later.

—

He doesn’t do anything about it.

Patroclus is his best friend, and he’s quite sure that he isn’t supposed to be feeling whatever it is he’s feeling about Patroclus. It’s the kind of thing that could ruin a friendship, the kind of thing that could make Patroclus leave, and he doesn’t want that, not ever.

So when Patroclus is sitting on Achilles’ bed, and Achilles wants to push him flat down and curl his body around Patroclus’ and feel their heartbeats come into sync, Achilles keeps quiet. When Patroclus is grinning at something he is saying, and he wants to kiss the smile off Patroclus’ lips, Achilles keeps quiet. When Patroclus knocks his shoulder into Achilles’, and he wants to reach out to hold Patroclus’ hand, Achilles keeps quiet.

In school, they say that he’s fast, that he’s strong, that he’s fearless, but when he’s with Patroclus, it doesn’t feel true at all in the slightest.

He thinks it’s because he doesn’t have anything to lose out on the tracks or in a game, if things go wrong, not really. He can lose his competitions, he can lose his friends, he can lose his reputation, but he cannot lose Patroclus. 

So he keeps quiet.

“Patroclus,” he whispers to himself, lying alone in his bed, not daring to move his hands lower from where they are splayed across his stomach even though he wants to, he wants to so much. “Patroclus,” he sighs again into the dark, and means _I wish I could_ , means _I wish I dared_ , means _I wish you wanted me too_. 

—

It takes him another year to realise that whenever he’s sneaking looks at Patroclus, Patroclus is always looking back. 

The flush on his neck mirrors Achilles’, the way his gaze darts away quickly mirrors Achilles’, the way he bites on his lips mirrors Achilles’.

His chest blooms with something that feels a lot like hope when he thinks that Patroclus may have feelings for him that mirrors his exactly too. 

He smiles through the next hour of class. 

He stops being so careful about looking at Patroclus.

—

“There’s a word I learnt today,” Achilles says to Patroclus, a few days later, when they’re both lounging in his room. Even though he’s already had some time to think this through, to rehearse it, he’s still already nervous. _Fearless_ , he thinks, and wants to sigh and shake his head. He is anything but, with Patroclus, but he has to try. “ _Philtatos_.” 

Patroclus hums, eyes still closed. “What does it mean?”

Achilles glances down, at the silver of space between their bodies, and reaches out, fumbling for Patroclus’ hand. When he looks at Patroclus again, Patroclus’ eyes are wide, and his lips are parted in surprise, but surely, _surely_ he must’ve known that this was coming, that this has been coming for a long time now. 

“ _Philtatos_ ,” Achilles repeats, squeezing Patroclus’ hand tightly. “Most beloved.”

Patroclus doesn’t move.

“Patroclus,” Achilles says, voice a bare whisper. _Pa-tro-clus_. It sounds like _I love you_ when he says it like that. Maybe he’s always said it like that, maybe he’s always meant _I love you_. 

Patroclus kisses him, tugs him closer by his t-shirt and keeps kissing him. They’re better at it now than they were before, back when they were only thirteen. They figure out how to fit against each other, how to slide their tongues against each other, how to make each other shiver with pleasure. 

“Patroclus,” Achilles breathes, and he means _please_ , means _more_ , means _don’t stop_.

Patroclus smiles against his lips, like he knows exactly what Achilles is saying, and doesn’t stop, gives him more like he asked for. 

“Patroclus,” Achilles says again, and it’s _I love you_ this time, it’s _I’ve loved you for so long_ , it’s _I’m going to love you forever_. 

Patroclus doesn’t answer, not with words. He doesn’t need to.

**Author's Note:**

> Look! I wrote a Not-Sad! \O/
> 
> I'm [here on Tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com), come say hi! :D


End file.
